‘No, never.’
‘It’s never as bad as you fear it will be – once you realise that dying is nothing special.’
‘Why do you say that? It’s special to me. I have a wife and a farm which I’d like to see again. I’ve a lot of living to do yet,’ said Gilad.
‘Of course you have. But you could survive this battle and come down with the plague, or be killed by a lion, or develop a cancer. You could be robbed and killed or fall from a horse. Ultimately you will die anyway. Everyone dies. I’m not saying you should give up and just open your arms to welcome it. You must fight it all the way. An old soldier – a good friend of mine – told me early in my life that he who fears to lose will never win. And it’s true. You know what a baresark is, boy?’
‘A strong warrior,’ said Gilad.
‘Yes he is. But he’s more than that: he’s a killing machine who cannot be stopped. Do you know why?’
‘Because he’s insane?’
‘Yes, there is that to him. But more. He doesn’t defend, because when he’s fighting he doesn’t care. He just attacks, and lesser men – who do care – die.’
‘What do you mean by lesser men? A man doesn’t have to be a killer to be great.’
‘That’s not what I meant . . . But I suppose it could have been. If I tried to farm – as your neighbour – men would say that I was not as good as you. They would look down on me as a bad farmer. On these battlements men will be judged by how long they stay alive. Lesser men, or lesser soldiers if you will, either change or fall.’
‘Why did you come here, Druss?’ asked Gilad, meaning to ask why the axeman had chosen to interrupt his watch. But the warrior misunderstood.
‘I came to die,’ he said softly, warming his hands and staring into the coals. ‘To find some spot on the battlements to make a stand, and then to die. I didn’t expect to have to take over the damned defence. A pox on it! I’m a soldier, not a general.’
As Druss talked on, Gilad realised the axeman was not talking to him – not to Cul Gilad, the former farmer. He was chatting to just another soldier at just another fire at just another fortress. In microcosm this scene was Druss’s life, the wait before the war.
‘I always promised her that I would stop and tend the farm, but always someone, somewhere, had a battle to fight. I thought for years that I was representing something – liberty, treedom, I don’t know. The truth was always much more simple. I love to fight. She knew, but had the good grace never to point it out. Can you imagine what it’s like to be a Legend – THE damned Legend? Can you, boy?’
‘No, but it must make you feel proud,’ said Gilad, uncertain.
‘It makes you tired. It saps your strength when it should raise it. Because you can’t afford to be tired. You’re Druss the Legend and you’re invulnerable, invincible. You laugh at pain.You can march for ever. With one blow you can topple mountains. Do I look as if I can topple mountains?’
‘Yes,’ said Gilad.
‘Well, I damned well can’t. I’m an old man with a weak knee and an arthritic back. My eyes are not so good as they were either.
‘When I was young and strong, the bruises always healed quickly. I was tireless then. I could fight all damned day. As I grew older I learned to fake it and snatch rest where I could. To use my experience in battle where before I had just powered my way through. In my fifties I was careful, and anyway by that time the Legend made men tremble. Three times since, I have fought men who could have beaten me, but they beat themselves because they knew who I was and were afraid.
‘Do you think I’m a good leader?’
‘I don’t know. I’m a farmer, not a soldier,’ said Gilad.